Up on the Roof
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Napoleon is desperate to find out where Illya disappears to during the day. When he finds out, Napoleon decides to kick it up a notch. HELP! someone gave me this as a prompt, if you recognize it, please let me know it's yours.


Glancing to his left and right to make sure he was unobserved, Illya bent to his task. He'd had considerable experience at picking locks and this one presented no exceptional challenge, even for an UNCLE-issued lock.

With a few deft moves, he shoved, twisted and then the door yielded to his tender administrations. He'd passed this door a dozen times before it finally had proven too much. There weren't many parts of UNCLE HQ that were a mystery to him and he was keen to explore this one.

He gave the door a push and it swung open slowly, its hinges stiff from disuse. With a secret smile, Illya stepped over the threshold and onto a part of the roof. Before him, the roof spread out, a dabbled surface of dark and light as the air handlers cast shadows. Around him, the City fell away for there were not many buildings as tall as UNCLE HQ in this part of Manhattan. The air seemed a little sweeter and the noise and bustle of the city nothing more than a distant thrum.

Making sure the door wouldn't lock behind him, Illya shut it and walked across the weather tar paper. He sat for a long time in the shade of an air handler, lost in thought. He craved moments like this and decided this was going to be his refuge and his alone.

A glance to his watch told him that he needed to head back inside. Otherwise, Napoleon would put out an APB on him. His partner was not one to sit through staff meetings alone.

Illya made sure his pants were brushed off and his jacket was set to rights. Looking back over his shoulder, Illya nodded to himself. This was going to be just perfect.

Napoleon looked up at him as Illya came into the conference room and slid into his usual chair.

"There you are." There was a slight scolding tone to Napoleon's voice.

"Has the meeting started yet?"

"No."

"Then I haven't missed anything."

"Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. You look… flushed."

Then Mr. Waverly stood and cleared his throat. The meeting had begun.

It always started the same. Illya would get this restless look. He would start sighing, or just fiddling with a pencil. This would go on for a few hours and then suddenly Illya would vanish.

It was driving Napoleon crazy in a way very few other things did. He knew Illya was in the building, but Napoleon could not find him. He'd searched all of Illya's usual hiding places and then some others that were not exactly Illya's style, like the file room or the nearly unused map room. Illya had somehow found himself a spot all to his own.

"Where are you?" Napoleon murmured. He was walking down the corridor when someone caught his arm. That someone was a Section Three agent, Martha Mayes. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed.

"Are you okay? Are you talking to yourself?" she asked and Napoleon nodded.

"Merely a side effect of the job, my dear. What can I do for you?"

"I have a bit of a mystery and I was hoping you could solve it." She gestured for him to follow and led the way into a room. Like some many other rooms, it was crammed full of machinery and the clatter was nearly enough to make Napoleon want to clap his hands over his ears.

"What's the mystery?"

"We have a bogey."

"I beg your pardon?"

She pointed to a dark light. "Every once in a while, that light will flash."

"Define once in a while."

"I first noticed it about a month ago." She tapped the light. "It's an unalarmed entrance/exit to the roof. I sent someone to look at it, but it was fine. Although it did look to be picked, but it was from the inside and the agents determined it was just from key usage.

Napoleon could barely keep from laughing out loud. Instead, he clapped his hands together. "I tell you what. How about I look into it?"

"You?" Martha's mouth gaped open.

"You don't think I'm up to the task?"

He watched as the woman struggled to regain her composure. "Well, you **are** Section Two. I thought all of you were too busy for such benign tasks."

"Nonsense. There are no small jobs, just small agents."

As he turned, Napoleon grinned a great big, I-have-you-now grin and he hurried away.

It took a bit of doing to get to the appointed door and Napoleon approached it with caution. As much as it made sense that this was Illya's doing, it was also possible that this was THRUSH. He hadn't risen to his current position by being stupid.

Napoleon unholstered his gun and moved quietly to the door. Carefully, he eased it open and stood there, just biding his time. When nothing happened, he took a step out and stopped.

There was Illya stretched out in a chair that had obviously seen its better days years earlier, the fingers from one hand twisted a piece of his long blond hair around and around. He was staring at the horizon, totally lost in thought.

Quickly and silently, Napoleon retreated inside. With practiced ease, he found the alarm pad and yanked the lead from it. Then he returned to his Section Three agent.

"Did you find anything? It's been on for nearly thirty minutes.

"I think you have a malfunction. I unattached the leads and will have Maintenance take a look at it. Put in a note for the shift change so they won't think we are being invaded in the meantime."

"Thanks, Mr. Solo. I really appreciate this."

The day started hot and sticky. Illya woke and felt less rested than when he'd gone to bed the night before. Even his fan set on high had done little to relieve the heat and humidity. He longed for a cool breeze or the dark shade of a dense tree. As a child, he would stretch out on the grass beneath a large tree and watch patterns dance as the wind tossed aside the leaves.

He felt gritty and nasty by the time he got to HQ. Even with the air conditioning on high, Illya was restless and just a little homesick, if the truth was told.

Usually he tried to keep these moments from interfering with his routine, but today he didn't have to worry. Napoleon had been there, then murmured something about a meet up with another agent and disappeared.

Illya worked steadily, doing his best to concentrate. He got through his mail and some of Napoleon's, at least the important stuff. He got the rosters put together, reviewed half a dozen agents' files and even managed a bit of lunch.

Finally he could stand no more and making sure he was unobserved, he headed to the roof.

It was easy to pick the lock and the door moved easily now that Illya had oiled the hinges. He stepped out into his little paradise and stopped.

There was a lounge chair with an umbrella stretched over it, casting a deliciously cool looking shadow. Beside the chair was an ice chest. Stacked on top of a nearby table was a collection of scientific journals and books. Two more chairs flanked it.

"What the hell?" Illya was amazed, disappointed, but also very curious. He walked to the chair and there on top of a comfortable-looking pillow was pinned a note.

_Dinner 7. Dress casually. _Illya recognized Napoleon's handwriting immediately. He smiled and sank down onto the lounge. Trust Napoleon to figure this out.

It had taken a bit of an effort to get the picnic basket past everyone, but Napoleon was a clever man. You didn't get to his position with having a trick or two up your sleeve. And he was only fifteen minutes late. To his way of thinking, it was perfect timing.

Carrying the basket and an extra chair, Napoleon was glad to see the door was ajar. It was Illya's way of letting him know that he was expected and even anticipated.

Pushing open the door, Napoleon walked out into the evening. The day was cooling and up here there was even the hint of a breeze.

Illya was stretched out on the lounge, sound asleep. His jacket, tie, and holster were off, as were his shoes and socks. He reminded Napoleon of a jungle cat sleeping on the limb of a tree. Napoleon moved quietly, setting out the dishes and various items onto the table

Tomorrow he would have to reattach the leads and close off this avenue of escape for his partner, but for tonight, it was just them and the evening sky. He dug a bottle of wine out of the ice chest and uncorked it. Pouring himself a glass, he found the historical thriller he'd purposefully left behind.

Settling into a chair, he began to read, patiently and happily waiting for his sleeping jungle cat to wake.


End file.
